Playing The Game
by Germany11
Summary: Sansa Stark has been a victim for too long to her husband Ramsay Bolton. To survive her marriage Sansa knows she'll have to embark on a darker path and learn to play a very dangerous game. After all, manipulating a monster like Ramsay was never going to be easy to begin with. *Ramsay Bolton/Sansa Stark, Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy*


"I've always wanted to own a pet wolf." Ramsay's fingers stroked the rend marks he made on her flesh. His flayer smile mocked her as the small candle light in the room made his countenance all the more menacing. Sansa turned her face away from him as her tears stained the satin pillows. Ramsay allowed it and that was the only small comfort she knew she would find from him.

There was once a time she was naïve enough to believe that Joffrey was the worse monster she had ever met. Could ever meet. After her wedding night with the bastard of the Dreadfort she had learned how wrong she had been. New scars had laced her creamy skin like a painting of violence that was a testament to her own innocence back then. If, Sansa had known what she knew now, she would have pushed that bastard King born of incest to his death and gladly would have accepted her head to be on a stake instead of having to marry the cruel bastard who lay beside her now.

Ramsay would leave soon, that's was the only solace she could find in her situation. He never allowed himself the state of vulnerability of slumber in her prescience. Much to her grievances Ramsay was wise enough to know that a flayed man would still make an easy enough meal to a wolf if the opportunity presented itself. Tonight, however he was tempting fate by staying with her longer than necessary. Not to say that he didn't enjoy her discomfort every night after the act, but tonight was different. Sansa could feel the chill of eyes the color of dirty ice raking all over her body. His fingers stroking like weightless feathers on each new mark he had bestowed upon her this night. Each ghosted caress made her hold her breath and her chest tighten in anticipation of more pain that never came. She wanted to ask him why he was so fixated on staying instead of leaving like he normally would have, but she bit her tongue on the matter. Answers to foolish questions like that could be just as damaging as the Bolton's house words. The bed dipped and creaked as he moved and repositioned his body next to her. Ramsay leaned in and placed a mocking sweet kiss to her cheek. Bile rose in her throat as the gesture sickened her to her stomach. Gods forbid he ever put a babe in her, she'd jump to her death if that ever became her reality.

"My lovely wife," his voice was drenched in sadistic fondness. "You've made me so very happy."

Happy. Of course he was happy. Sansa would have laughed at the statement in a spurt of madness at the comment he just made if she didn't know any better by now. She wanted to tell him that he was nothing more than a bastard. conceived of rape. A lowborn who should have never had any claim to marrying a Stark. Let alone even have the gall to use her body as he wished or rend her highborn skin. Deep down she concluded that Ramsay must have already knew that. Knew that he was never born to a right to her, let alone a right to any highborn position he now had. Yes, he was happy at the sake of her own dignity. How, a born bastard could do as he pleased to whoever he wished and especially to his own house prior liege lord's daughter.

A flayed man had no place in the company of a wolf. Yet, that's exactly what had accord between them for over a fortnight.

"I would love to stay," he spoke with a tinge of disappointment in his voice. For Sansa nevertheless felt like he had flayed apart her mind and read her prior inner musings. "However, I can not, after all, my pet wolf isn't fully tamed well enough to sleep in a bed with its master." A dark snicker escaped him and she had cringed from his claims of ownership over her.

Holding, her breath she dared not speak as he left the bed. Sansa didn't dare give a glance as she heard him re-dress. She didn't even acknowledge as he feigned her a wish for a peaceful rest as he left the room and locked it behind him.

Trapped, she was trapped. Like a little bird in a cage that the Hound had commented on years ago. Yes, she was caged back then. Stuck in a den of Lions with no escape route in her path. Being saved not by her own accord, but by the same man who had given her away as a trophy to the Bolton's who had sealed the fate of her house fall. There was no getting passed that fact. Perhaps, Baelish had known what demise of all that she had left in her that he was sending her into. Perhaps, he didn't. Maybe, just maybe, he had honestly believed that she could make the bastard of Roose Bolton's hers to control like he had advised her to do if need be. A cunning man was what Littlefinger was, but she had learned that despite all his cunning even he could not foresee the cruelty of the bastard son he had given her away to.

Ramsay's words earlier had haunted her. He had claimed himself as a wolfs master. While, Baelish had claimed that she could manipulate the situation to her advantage. Could she honestly have the level of deceit and skill befitting all of Kings Landing to do just that? The same man who had expected Sansa to accomplish that had once told her of how everyone was a better liar than she. How many lies would she have to tell to change her situation for the better with a man that was as cruel a monster as they come?

Sansa had once believed that monster King Joffrey could not be manipulated, but she had been witness to how Margaery had done so. Margaery had managed to do what even the likes of Tywin Lannister couldn't even muster. Manipulation was always a game that only the best liars could exceed at. Women had to play it for their own survival in a world built by killers. An art form that they had honed and skilled for centuries to better their own positions with monstrous men. If they didn't succeed than fates worse that death could befall them. With all the most horrendous men in all the seven kingdoms she had been ill-fated to fall prey into the very worse of them' grip.

Ramsay had called her his wolf and a wolf is what she was. A wolf without a pack, but a wolf all the same. Sansa knew then that she couldn't allow herself to be the little bird that the Hound had nicknamed her long ago. Wolves didn't do well trapped in a cage. They needed freedom to run and grow. Like Margaery's who had tamed the cruel lion to her will, following her house words of Growing Strong, Sansa had to follow a similar path. As intimidating as the flayed man was, they didn't posses the teeth and bark of a wolf like a Stark. No more would she allow herself to fall prey to blades that were sharp, no more would she sing songs like a caged little bird, but a wolf is what she would be. Wolves needed a pack and she knew exactly what she would have to do to ensure that she'd have one.

With the morning sun the graced the confines of her small chambers came with it a broken Kraken into her room. Sansa had been anticipating his arrival as he would always be the first one to see her every morning since her wedding night. Sea blue eyes stayed fixated on the ground as his body trembled, barely balancing the tray of food that was always prepared for. Never much was given for her to eat, only just enough for she wouldn't fade away into nothing. She had doubted that was Ramsay's doing. The bastard would prefer her to starve and weaken, something that his father just wouldn't allow. It wasn't a kindness that she also knew.

"Theon," her voice shook with what information she would need to inquire from the broken thing that had betrayed her family. His head and gaze darted up so fast at her that she was sure it made him dizzy.

"Not, Theon. Reek. Please." He pleaded for a mercy that seemed more cruel to her than kind.

Knowing if she continued to use his true name that he would flee before they could even speak and not be seen until the next sunrise after another night of her being under Ramsay's control, she forced her self to call him that dreadful name.

"Alright, Reek," his body lessened with tension as he gave her a small nod as he put down her tray of food on the desk, before he could turn to leave however she continued to speak with him. "I need to speak with you," her gentle tone didn't quell his sense to run. Sansa watched as Theon glanced at the door fearfully and back at her suspiciously. Not wanting to have to resort to what she said next, she knew she had no choice in doing so once he started backing up away from her. "You owe me that much."

That stopped Theon in his tracks. Sea blue eyes looked at her on the verge of tears as he gave a stiff nod. "I can't save you," He muttered almost under his breath. "Lord Ramsay will know if I try." The sadness in his voice, made her feel as she was talking more to the ward she had grown up with and not to the creature that was forced the name Reek upon him.

"You can still help me."

Taking a step back she could see how Theon was retreating back into himself and that would not do for her own survival and plans. Much to quickly for the broken man to process she stood up from the bed and trapped his thin arm in her grip.

"I can't. I can't help anyone. Not anymore. Not after what Lord Ramsay has done," his voice cracked as sobs started to break through the surface of the sea his blood line was from.

"What I ask of you now, will help me, please," his shivers told her that she was losing him more to his own terror. She only had one last chance for this to work and she could not fail. With a deep breath to steady herself, she said words that felt more like her damnation when she was trying for her salvation. "I won't ask you to betray Ramsay, I just need information for I can survive his games. You're the only one I can trust. Please. If you can do anything for me, do this."

Trust was a funny thing. Trusting a man who had betrayed her family and killed her two younger brothers was just so absurd that it was almost hysterical in thinking it, let alone speaking it. Sansa had wondered then if after years of living with abuse if she had finally gone madder than the Mad King himself. There wasn't even a guarantee that this dangerous game she was setting up could even have her the victor in the end. Manipulating a monster like Ramsay Bolton was like a little bird preying on a hungry cat. Her words seemed to have awoken something in the broken Kraken and when she knew he wouldn't flee from her she released his arm.

"What do you need to know?" His voice was solemn, but determined.

Taking a deep breath, setting herself up for her fate she asked her question.

"Tell me everything you know that Ramsay likes?"

Speaking a question such as that, Sansa knew she was setting into motion events that could either doom her fate or liberate her to some form of safety. No, longer would she sit by idly while Ramsay played games with her. Now, the wolf would play her own game. A game that took years of torment to learn how to play. A game that she hoped the wolf would be better adapt than a flayed man.


End file.
